Limbo
by Rabiscar
Summary: UPDATED. After the legendary feuding and before the throes of love, there must have been one hell of a friendship. JP/LE
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of this business, it all belongs to JK Rowling.

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**LIMBO**

He's late for class again. He's always late and that leaves me alone for the first five minutes of class to contend with the glowing smiles from Slughorn and the snarky looks from the crowd of Slytherins who all sit together in a cluster. Three girls unabashedly stare at me and make remarks to each other out of the corners of their barely parted mouths. I can't help it, my eyebrows jump and I shoot them a look of barely concealed contempt to which their lips start moving even faster before they titter in grating laughter. How I stop myself from sticking my tongue out, I don't know, but somehow I manage to turn around without behaving like a five year old. Some Ravenclaw boy clutching his books to his chest is cautiously approaching the desk next to mine and my eyes narrow into a glare causing him to turn abruptly and find another seat. I feel kind of bad but sorry mate, that seat's taken.

Sluggy's clearing his throat and his moustache is quivering at the front of the room so everyone quiets down. Wands away, this is a lecture, not a practical class, looks like we have to listen to an hour of old Horace going on about principles of potion making again. (Which we all know means that some rare ingredient that's needed for the potion we're _supposed_ to be learning is on backorder and he's pulling this class out of his hat.) Cheek leaned against my hand and quill moving feverishly across the page as I take down notes, I feel like I could just fall asleep in the dank dungeon if not for the random intervals when Slughorn's voice suddenly elevates to a boom.

There's a short creak as the door eases open, followed by a soft thud as it closes and I sneak a look over my shoulder to see Potter making his way into the classroom. He slips between the row of desks, _excuse me, excuse me_, and slides into his seat with enviable grace.

"Took you long enough," I say in a low voice as I shoot him a furtive look from the corner of my eye.

"Why, d'you miss me?" he asks, not looking at me as he rustles through his leafs of parchment.

I scowl and continue writing. He leans in to read what notes he's missed and I'm entirely too conscious of how close he is. My hand keeps pushing my quill back and forth in lines, but my shoulders square up and freeze in place, not daring to move. He seems completely oblivious as his eyes narrow slightly and his lips move soundlessly while he reads what I've written. I've stopped writing all together and although I haven't moved my head an inch, my eyes have shifted towards him. Feeling my gaze he looks up and slowly leans back, giving me a curious look. I rub a hand over my face before bowing over my parchment yet again. Embarrassed, I look determinedly away from him, focusing with such intent that my nose nearly touches the page.

I steal a look at him and he's staring at me. _Smiling._ As if I'm _amusing _him somehow.

"What?!" I demand haughtily.

He shakes his head and just keeps staring with that infuriating smile dancing on his face, and his arms crossed against his chest.

"Are you even going to take any notes?" I ask disapprovingly.

"I'll copy them off you later," he waves me off.

"Yeah, if I let you," I mutter threateningly.

He just smiles. I roll my eyes and turn my head. Everyone in the room is breaking out in hushed conversation and Slughorn hasn't even noticed. He's still bumbling around the front of the classroom, stuttering about the Draught of the Death and what we _would_ be doing today if he had ordered the ingredients on time. The Slytherin girls are looking my way again and whispering vehemently. To be honest I can't tell if they're glowering at me or gawking at Potter. Either way, I can no longer resist the temptation to screw up my face and shake my tongue back and forth. I'll let them interpret that one as they will. Am I just making a funny face or am I insinuating that I suck face with Potter after class? Think about that one Slytherin girls. Ponder it.

"What are you doing?"

I turn my head toward Potter, trying my best to compose a vacant and inquisitively polite expression.

"Pardon me?"

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" he asks again, craning his neck around me to try and see who I was looking at.

"Nothing," I huff, and wag my fingers at the Slytherins who are now wearing matching expressions of disgust.

James catches sight of them and snorts loudly.

"Did I say something humorous, Mr Potter?" Slughorn asks. "I didn't realize that the different methods of crushing sopophorous beans were so funny."

"Must be the way you tell it sir, you just have good comedic timing," James says sharply.

Slughorn shakes his head and continues lecturing, his moustache twitching.

"How do you get away with everything?" I ask incredulously.

He shrugs and grins before leaning his chair back on two legs.

"You're going to fall on your arse, you know that?" I ask, eyeing his chair.

"Nope," he says with a smirk, "Perfect balance."

"Yeah, just like last quidditch practise when you fell off your broom," I remind him, "That was some good poise."

"Not fair, you threw me off," he says defensively.

"Oh, did little Evans throw the quaffle too hard?" I ask, blinking up at him innocently.

"I made the catch, didn't I?"

"Sure, but that doesn't change the fact that you fell down."

"Well maybe if your toss had been on target I wouldn't have had to reach so far."

"Please, my toss was dead-on and you know it."

"Harpy."

"Prick."

We're both staring each other down, daring the other one to laugh. I always lose this game. His eyebrows are furrowed but I can see he's trying to fight a smile off his face. I hope he can't see my lips quivering. I break first and start to snicker but it's not long before he does too.

The bell tolls and we both jump in our seats, James falling on his arse, just like I said he would. The Slytherins jeer as they hustle out of the classroom and I help Potter to his feet, shaking my head with a smirk.

"Oh shut up," he says as he collects his things.

"I didn't say anything," I insist as we walk out of the dungeons.

"Yeah, yeah," he waves me off again. "See you at quidditch practise, tonight?" he asks eagerly.

"Sure, if you survive til then without breaking your arse."

He gives me a shove before taking off down the corridor, leaving me on my own again. Sodding Potter.

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AN: So this may or may not be based loosely on the dynamic of a relationship (or lack thereof) that I have had. I hope I conveyed the little things properly because believe it or not this was the closest to love I've ever been hahaha. Tell me what you think through a little R&R and you will make me very, very happy.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and not me.  


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The dressing room is tense with nervous energy. Everyone is pulling on their robes or plucking at the straw on the back of their brooms. The rumble of the crowd in the stands above us either serves to charge you up for the game or scare the bloody hell out of you. I look over and Potters' hands are trembling so badly he can barely get his gloves on. He's a cocky git the moment he steps on the pitch and kicks his broom off the ground but he's always a twitchy little bugger in the dressing room before the match.

"Oi!" I call out, punching him in the shoulder, "Get a grip, mate," I say as I take a seat on the bench next to him.

"What are you talking about?" he snaps and fumbles with his gloves.

"This," I say and snatch one of them out of his hands, waving it in his face. "Don't worry about it, we're going to be brilliant," I mutter and hold open the glove for him.

He jams his hand in and I gruffly do up the snaps.

"You know you're fine as soon as you're in the air, just try not to puke until then, alright?" I ask and slap him on the chest before standing back up.

"Yeah," he says weakly.

"Alright, boys, circle up!" Owen shouts. Owen Keenan's our keeper and team captain and he does a pretty good job of it, even if he has an annoying habit of addressing us collectively as boys.

"C'mon now, circle up," he shouts out again as we all crowd around him. "We all know that we're facing Hufflepuff today," he says causing a few snickers to break out.

"That's enough! We talked about this! Do not underestimate them!" he cries, his dark eyes glittering as he shoots looks at different people in turn. "They have a good side this year and they're going to drive us into the ground if we don't take them seriously," he says, pounding his fist into his palm emphatically.

"Moore," he nods at a stocky, ginger-haired beater, "I want you to keep an eye on Doyle. He's new on Hufflepuff this year and very quick. I watched their practice last week and he can put points up on the board. Send a few bludgers his way."

Moore tightens his grip on his bat and starts bouncing on the balls of his feet in response.

"You too, Anderson," Owen adds, "Don't be afraid to batter the kid," he says causing a few of us to start snickering again.

"Potter, Evans, Cole," Owen hollers over our laughter, his eyes darting between the three of us. "We need quick, sharp passes like we did in training."

Cole and I both nod eagerly but Potter just gapes stupidly. Honestly, I don't know why he even bothers to come to the dressing room; he should just get ready in Gryffindor Tower and wait out on the pitch for the rest of us. Owen is staring at him expectantly and I have to elbow him in the ribs to get him to finally nod his head up and down.

"Fletcher, you know what to do," Owen says looking at our small, sandy haired seeker who is pacing back and forth impatiently. She stops pacing for a moment to sweep her hair up into a ponytail and stare expectantly at the door.

We're all getting restless and its almost time to head out.

"Alright, hand's in, boys."

There's a scuffle as everyone edges into the circle and bumps into one another.

"1-2-3-GRYFFINDOR!"

The door is thrown open and we file out of the tunnel, running onto the pitch, the muffled rumble we had heard in the dressing room turning into a resonating thunder. The sound of roaring approval mingles with hisses and boos to create an unintelligible racket. The Hufflepuffs are already in the air, warming up and tossing a quaffle back and forth. I look to my right and James is kicking his broom off the ground. He shoots into the air and the higher he goes the broader his grin becomes. I take off after him and its clear that he's shaken off any nerves he was feeling.

"EVANS!" he barks at me. "Get over on the left flank and toss a quaffle into centre-field for me!"

This bloke couldn't even put his own gloves on and now he's ordering me around. I turn around obediently and go into a dive, pulling out of it at the last minute to scoop one of the practise quaffles off the ground. I spurt back up into the air and whip the quaffle at Potter, hitting him in the back of the head. He spins around and manages to catch it before turning around to glower at me. He's about to retaliate when there's a short blast from Madam Dodd's whistle indicating its time for the match to start.

Everyone moves into position and before I know it, I'm streaking across the pitch, chasing yellow blurs through the air, reaching for stray quaffles and hurling passes to James and Cole. Potter's bellowing instructions and warnings. _See Cole on the wing! Watch your back! Have a shot!_ He's so bloody vocal I can barely think sometimes. It used to drive me absolutely bonkers when we first started playing together but I've gotten used to it. I see one of the Hufflepuff chasers extending his arm for a toss and hurtle forward to intercept the quaffle. I just catch hold of it between my fingertips and dart around a bludger before racing down toward Hufflepuff's end. The keeper is skirting towards me and I feint a throw at one of the hoops before passing the quaffle off to Potter. The keeper takes my bait and is out of position when Potter tosses the quaffle in for an easy ten points.

The noise of the crowd is deafening as Potter does a celebratory flip and flies past the stands, pumping his fist. I shake my head and roll my eyes but I can't help but smile. He knows how to work the crowd that's for sure. We resume play and the game gets rougher as we go on. We manage to stay ahead in score but the Hufflepuffs are not trailing by much and they're starting to get a little feisty. Cole was nearly knocked off his broom before one of the Hufflepuff chasers was called for cobbing and Fletcher was hit by a nasty bludger at point blank range so I'm not too surprised when I see a Hufflepuff charging toward me at breakneck speed. Having not a split second to get out of the way, I brace myself for the hit. I manage to stay on my broom but I'm sent tumbling through the air. The whistle screeches to indicate a foul and I manage to straighten up and toss the quaffle to Madam Dodd. I'm turning around to ask Owen who should take the penalty when I see a streak of red whip past me and crash into the offending Hufflepuff. The whistle screeches again and Madam Dodd swoops down to pull apart James and the Hufflepuff who are now shoving each other back and forth.

"OI! POTTER!" Owen screams, "SMARTEN UP!"

Madam Dodd announces that _both_ teams will have a penalty and James flies away looking infuriated. I race to catch up with him and fly alongside his broom.

"What in Merlin's name was that all about?" I shout at him.

"He hit you," James says defensively.

"Of course he did, its bloody quidditch!" I yell incredulously.

"Yeah, well, it was a dirty hit," he grunts as his face reddens considerably.

"Yeah, so?" I demand heartlessly. "What about the hits on Cole or Fletcher? Those were dirty as all hell but I didn't see you acting like a mad man then!" I holler without thinking. He scowls at me and shoots off to take the penalty leaving me to think about it on my own.

"EVANS, GET BACK IN THE GAME!" Owen shouts from the goal posts.

I jerk my broom around and start flying toward Hufflepuff's end, preparing to snag a rebound off of Potter's penalty when I hear a collective gasp from the crowd. I whip my head around to see Fletcher nose down in a sharp dive. The Hufflepuff seeker is hot on her tail and Fletcher is reaching as far she can toward a tiny flash of gold. Suddenly, it's all over. Fletcher's tiny hand encloses around the snitch and none of the other madness matters because we _won_. We nearly crush her when we all fly into her, crowding together and screaming nonsense.

Later that night, the party resumes in the common room and everyone is decked out in scarlet and gold, chanting choruses of _GRYFFINDOR! GRYFFINDOR! _It doesn't take long before someone brings out a wireless and several bottles of butterbeer. Someone is mimicking a lion's roar and Fletcher is so tiny that people can't help but pick her up and carry her around on their shoulders. James makes his way through the crowd and is stopped several times on the way for congratulations and high fives.

"Hey," he grins, "good game today," he thumps me on the back.

"You too," I say and can't help but smile broadly back at him.

"Yeah, maybe if you work at it, you can be as good as me one day," he smirks.

"Are you mad?" I ask him, "You may have scored all the goals but I set you up for all of them."

"Yeah, yeah, all I know is I'm putting points up on the board and you're not," he contends and looks at me challengingly.

"You're really asking for it Potter," I say menacingly and clench my teeth to keep from smiling.

"Am I? Am I?" he asks and starts mussing up my hair with his hands.

"You are such a child!" I laugh and swat his hands away. "Quit…harassing…our…star…chaser!" I manage to grunt as I dance out of his reach.

"Alright, alright," he sighs and crosses his arms and smiles contently, his eyes warm.

Seeing him look at me like that makes me feel guilty and I sweep my hair out of my face self-consciously.

"Sorry about getting mad at you earlier, during the game," I say a little awkwardly.

"Nothing doing," he brushes me off. "I was being thick," he says and stares at the ground.

"No, I overreacted. It's just that," I start slowly, "I don't need you to protect me," I squint up at him, uncertain as to how he'll take it. To my surprise he starts to smile.

"I know," he chortles, "You can handle yourself, that's for sure," he nods.

For a moment I want to reach out and hug him but I don't, worried that it would cross some boundary. Instead I clap him on the shoulder.

"Thanks for looking out though," I say as I'm turning to walk away.

"Yeah, you too," he calls.

I turn to face him, confused.

"What do you mean?"

"The dressing room," he says. "You know, helping me with my gloves and stuff."

"Yeah," I say, taken aback. "No problem."

Walking away through the throng of people, two boys from seventh year stop me and grab me by the arms.

"Oi, brilliant game today!"

"Potter gets all the glory but you do all the work eh?"

"Don't be stupid, the two of them have got a good partnership, right Evans?"

"What? Partnership?" I demand in a strangled voice.

"Yeah! Like Lloyd and Carrick on Puddlemere United, you just work well together."

"Oh," I breathe a sigh of relief, "Yeah, partnership."

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AN: I decided to extend this after encouragement from a few warm reviewers and a late night up in bed dreaming up this chapter. I hope that this follows in the same vein as the first chapter and that it maintains the same feel and dynamic. I know there's a lot of quidditch and some people might be looking for a bit more on the romance side but what can I say? I'm a sports enthusiast. Anyway, I hope that you enjoyed it. R&R to make my day ;)


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. All of this belongs to JK Rowling.  


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He's doing it again. That thing where he reads something out of the textbook as if it's his own words. He's always goofing off at the back of the classroom but if you asked him at any given time what the 12 uses for dragon blood are, not only would he recite them to you word for word from the book but he'd make its sound like he's the one who discovered them. We're in charms class. I sit at the front with Dorcas like the good keener that I am and Potter sits at the back with Remus who always looks like he's not sure whether to be amused or embarrassed.

We're supposed to be learning the bubble-head charm today but we always get sidetracked in this class and somehow we stumbled onto the topic of name origins. Go figure. I guess if I ever find myself in need of the ability to breathe underwater I'll be at a loss. Not that I can think of a time when I would ever, ever need to know that.

"My last name means one who makes earthen vessels," Potter yells. He's always yelling.

"No, it doesn't!" I scoff.

"Yeah it does," James nods his head vehemently. "Potter, pots, vessels," he says.

Oh, that does make sense.

"Don't be thick," I call across the room, "It does _not _mean that, just because they sound the same," I say rolling my eyes.

"Fine, look it up then!" He says challengingly and tosses me a small, worn, red leather book.

"The Origins of Surnames," I read the title out loud. "So you just carry this thing around with you?" I ask incredulously.

"That's besides the point, just look at it!"

Sure enough, he's right. Of course he's right, I knew he was all along but it's like some sort of unspoken code that I have to disagree with him.

"Pfft, that's just one book, for all I know you could have written this thing," I roll my eyes as I chuck the book back at him. "Come back with some credible sources and maybe I'll believe you."

"Interesting as this discussion is, we should really get back to the bubble charm," chides Professor Tippins. "As I was saying, the bubble-head charm enables the user to remain under water for extensive periods of time without having to hold their breath."

"Do you know who I bet doesn't even need to use a bubble-head charm?" Potter demands before staring around the room challengingly. "Medwin Cassels," he declares emphatically.

"Medwin Cassels?" I snort. "The singer?"

"Oh yeah," James asserts and leans back in his chair. "He can hold a note _forever._ I swear the guy's lung capacity is _huge_."

Professor Tippins does not even try to sidetrack the conversation; she just watches our exchange in rapt attention with a slack jaw.

"You seriously listen to Medwin Cassels? Doesn't he sing opera or something? I mean, my mom listens to him," I say in disbelief. My mom doesn't really listen to him since he's famous on the Wizarding Wireless and she's a muggle and all but you get the picture.

"You laugh but that man has the voice of an angel," he retorts in all seriousness. "He's a god among men."

Okay, I cannot keep a straight face when he says things like that. I turn around and bury my face in my arms, breaking down into giggles.

"Enough!" Professor Tippins exclaims, taking this opportunity to try and regain control of the class. "We need to _focus _on the task at hand! If every class continues to go this way, you will never be prepared to take your N.E.W.T.S next year!"

Nearly everyone in class ducks their head and snickers at this point. We hear this speech every day. There's something about putting Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors together that makes for a very mellow atmosphere and Professor Tippins can seldom get us very anxious over our in-class performance (or lack thereof).

"The incantation for this spell is _capullio_," she says as she flicks her wand and the word appears on the blackboard. "Your wand movement should be a swift wave away from the body before touching your wand to your temple, like so," she demonstrates, a bubble forming around her head. With a sharp jab of her wand she pops the bubble and stares around the room expectantly.

"Well go on then, try it!"

Dorcas and I look at each other uncertainly and she rushes to touch her finger to her nose.

"You first," she grins.

I shrug and pick my wand up from my desk. With a quick snap of my wrist I flick the wand away and turn it swiftly towards my face, poking myself in the eye with gusto.

"Argh," I grunt stupidly and clap my hand to my eye.

"Real graceful," James calls out. "You've grown into such a refined and elegant young lady."

Dorcas laughs so hard she spits.

"As if you're much better," I growl at her in an undertone before shooting a dirty look towards Potter.

The class carries on in much the same way except that I manage to avoid any further stabbing at my orifices with a piece of wood.

Finally the bell tolls and class is over. Dorcas and I stand and stash away our wands, textbooks and bits of parchments into our bags. At the door I tell her goodbye before she rushes away towards her Muggle Studies class. I start ambling down the corridor toward the Great Hall and catch up to Potter who is sneaking a peek over his shoulder to make sure I'm following him. I catch him grinning as I fall into step beside him.

"What are you so happy about?" I ask, even though I have a pretty good idea.

"Nothing," he says, avoiding my stare.

I roll my eyes and brace myself as we turn into the Great Hall. Lunch hour in the Great Hall can be nothing short of chaotic. Lump together a castle full of ravenous students and put food out and there's bound to be some wild antics. Couple that with bloody owls swooping in all over the place to deliver parcels and mail and you've got a real mess on your hands. Seriously, those birds are dropping feathers and Merlin knows what else all over our eating surface. It's very unsanitary.

I sit down and load up my plate, looking around for Potter but the twat has gone to find bloody Sirius which means I've been talking to myself like a mad hatter for the last thirty seconds. I look up to see if anybody's noticed and sure enough there's a tiny first-year boy sitting across from me who's hunched over his mashed potatoes and staring at me fearfully.

"I'm not crazy," I tell him seriously.

"Like hell you're not," Sirius says as he sits down next to the little boy.

"Yeah, you're barking," Potter adds, sliding in next to me and snatching my bread roll off of my plate.

Distractedly, I eye down the food in his hand.

"You're like a bird, you know that?" I mutter under my breath.

"What? What's that even mean?" he asks.

"You're always pecking at my crumbs," I grumble back at him.

"Am not!" he says through a mouthful. "Hurry up and eat," he says nodding towards my plate. "We have places to be."

"Where?" I demand and take a sip of pumpkin juice.

"Honeydukes," he jerks his head, "We'll take the tunnel behind the statue of the old hag."

"We'll never make it back to class on time," I scrunch up my nose, "and I am _not_ skiving off History of Magic."

"We'll take brooms," James shrugs, "they'll get us down the tunnel lickety split," he says casually.

"Potter, that's breaking about fifty school rules," I protest. If I keep hanging out with this bloke I'll never get to be head girl.

"Oh, come on Evans," he taunts, "It's not like we're going to get caught," he waves me off.

I shake my head disapprovingly and am about to object when I'm interrupted by loud chuckling.  
Potter and I both look up to see Sirius laughing with his arms crossed on the table.

"You know," he says looking from my face to Potter's, "You two have not changed a bit," he shakes his head. "You're still a git and she's still a prude," he smirks and looks at each of us in turn. "I don't know how you can stand each other," he snickers.

"Me neither," I say and give Potter a shove. But really I can't remember how I could stand being without him.

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A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! R&R to make my day. Much love, Rabiscar.


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